The ponies bit through the ropes
and took off.
I spent days trying to track them down.
Hard clay, trampled brush. No luck.
They had taken flight, leapt across the vast airy expanse
to another world. Ascended. Vanished.
I knew I shouldn’t have keep them penned up.
Such creatures were never meant to be tethered.
Each night I stare out at the distant row of lights
that inch across the highway. I’m too far away
to hear the roar of the tractor trailers,
the boxcars full of lowing cattle.
Planed fly overhead with no pilots,
lights blinking ominously as they pass.
Things are crawling out there in the darkness, slithering sideways,
Things with too many legs, or not enough.
Things that sting or bite or just stare at you
with a cyclops eye, recording everything.
Every night I stand on the other side
of the barbed wire fence, a sugar cube resting
in my open palm, waiting to hear that whinny,
that clop of hooves, waiting to feel that hot breath,
that prickle of a hairy lip kissing forgiveness.